


I Sing the Body Electric...

by omnical (general_mustachio), ToHeck (Issandri)



Series: Pharmercy Fate Roulette [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Comedy, Cyberpunk-ish, F/F, Fridge Horror, Mercy is a forensic pathologist, Mystery, Pharah is a detective, Slow Romance, angela is head over heels in love and she is also socially awkward someone help her, rock music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/general_mustachio/pseuds/omnical, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issandri/pseuds/ToHeck
Summary: All her life, forensic pathologist Dr. Angela Ziegler has dabbled much with the dead. After a bout of self-realization, she decides it's time she learned how to deal with the living.And maybe ask her colleague out for a date somehow.(Former title was "Dead Bodies".)





	1. a simple song

_Victim died from a singular sharp force: a penetrating wound to the head, resulting in cranial injury._

_Left side, approximately 1.53 inches superior to the left orbit._

_No murder weapon discovered in the crime scene._

Angela hummed, tapping her lip with the pen.

She paused the voice recorder and wrote her thoughts down on a yellow notebook, leg bobbing, her mind sinking deeper into concentration. By her elbow, a steaming cup of coffee remained untouched, and a nine-hour-old, empty sandwich wrapper laid crumpled up in a ball. Empty coffee cups littered her desk, alongside a mess of sticky notes with crucial thoughts written on them, such as: ‘the nasal cavity?’ and ‘lentil soup’.

Her uniform smelled freshly of antiseptic and murk from the examination they had performed earlier today. It sunk into her skin, her hair; lingering under her nose. Nothing she wasn’t used to, but being used to the smell did not mean she wouldn’t enjoy a long, hot shower back home. Finally, wiping biscuit crumbs off her wobbling keyboard and cracking her long, crooked fingers -- Angela got to work threading the details together. Her peering blue eyes did not break away from the notes and sketches she accumulated, as she typed down her meticulous observations regarding the case. And after what felt like hours, Dr. Ziegler sat back stiffly, curled hands hovering above the keyboard as she skimmed through her official autopsy report, eyes straining from overexposure to the monitor light.

She needed a few more moments of scribbling and typing and biting her pen. Playing the recorder again, keeping it on repeat; she listened to the sound of her voice, crackling and interspersed with static:

_Body was found by janitorial staff at 1:30 PM._

_According to the man in question, he was lying face-down on his desk, his pose suggesting a struggle, which explains various points of discoloration on his skin…_

_Blunt force trauma found on abdomen… bruising prominent beneath the left rib –_

Where was his position when he received that bruise again?

Angela hummed, her thumbs tapping a random rhythm on the keyboard's space-key.

Once she reached the end of the tape for the third time, marked by a soft ‘click’, afternoon had already come and gone, her desktop monitor the only light bathing her in blue. She hid the recorder in the drawer, her free hand busy alternating between drafting a few rough sketches on paper, and typing exact details on the autopsy report. The doctor took a moment to grab a folder for Case #765 on top of a pile, opening it and flipping over to the photos of the crime scene: dried blood splattered outwards in every chaotic direction on the victim’s mahogany desk; his leather writing pad askew, probably because of how the body fell upon its expiry. She pinched her pen idly between her nose and upper lip, noting how neat the rest of the victim’s desk looked otherwise. She wondered what Satya would say about that particular pattern of blood. It looked like a bunny rabbit.

“Doc Ziegler?”

Cutting herself off in the middle of her thoughts before it drifted too far, Angela reached out to grab her coffee cup, not minding its ice-cold contents, and re-read her notes during their Internal Examination. Angela could only imagine what kind of weapon the murderer used. Or get an idea of what it was, at least, after seeing the results of the death blow herself. This seemed like a tricky one.

“Doc?”

Now if she were to make a guess, it would have been an extremely sharp knife with a serrated edge or…

Angela blindly grabbed for her pen, cocking her head when she realized, during her feverish thought process, she had lost the blasted thing somewhere and could not for the life of her remember where…

“Yo, Dr. Ziegler!” Angela blinked rapidly when Dr. dos Santos’ face appeared in front of her peripheral vision, her blurry sight sharpening until she could see the quirk of his eyebrow and his amused smirk up close. “Busy?” After a pause, a few seconds spent allowing her mind to buffer as she forcefully snapped herself back into reality, Angela jumped in her chair and uttered a small and startled ‘oh’. Her speeding thoughts halting violently in its tracks, not unlike a race car screeching out of the road in a rabble of chaos. She blinked again and, similar to the spread of colored dye blooming in water, her mind began to consciously feel the kinks and aches in her bones ignored for too long. A beat, and she realized her stomach had also released an embarrassing rumble on top of it all. She sent Lucio a sheepish look.

“Doctor, I’m sorry, I -- ” Angela shoved her skewed glasses up her nose, “You startled me.”

Lucio shook his head and rested hands on his hips while he regarded his frazzled mentor. There were biscuit crumbs dotting the corners of her mouth, and her blonde hair stuck up in several different directions all at once. Her clothing was rumpled and frayed, high heels pushed to the corner of her desk, leaving her feet covered in wrinkled stockings, and -- there were coffee stains on her shirt. He sighed, wondering who was really looking after who, in their professional relationship.

“So,” he said, elongating the word into a drawl, “Please tell me you ate lunch?”

Dr. Ziegler cleared her throat, “Yes, of course I had lunch.” she said, wiping crumbs off her chin. “I had something hot and soup-like almost an hour ago, and – “

“I don’t think coffee counts as ‘lunch’, Angela.”

Angela groaned in defeat and closed her eyes, watching bright spots dance beneath her eyelids as her body melted into the chair like putty. She breathed in deep, then stretched her legs out with an exhale. “Just finishing up on some paperwork, that’s all. You know how I get carried away sometimes.”

“How about all the time? And I think ‘carried away’ wasn’t exactly the term I was looking for. Try ‘workaholic’, or ‘perfectionist’.” Lucio leaned his hip against Angela’s desk, crossing his arms, and peering down at her with a mock frown, his neon green headset bunched up around his neck. Even if Dr. Lucio dos Santos was many years younger than her, and technically working under her, Angela hunkered down into her seat feeling much like a child under the watchful eyes of a parent. “When was the last time you took a ten-minute break, young lady?”

“I am not working too hard,” Angela groused. She sat back up in her seat with a grunt, feeling her back and neck pop. “This is just regular me, doing my regular me things,” She shot him a look. “ _Mom_.”

“Don’t give me lip, young lady, you know you’re wrong about this,” Lucio said, “As your colleague, you know I respect and look up to you. But as your friend? You gotta start taking care of yourself, Angela.”

Angela huffed through her nose and began to get her hands busy, stacking the mess of reports which covered her desk into a neat-ish pile, and actively trying to avoid the look Lucio was giving her. “Just be glad I am out of my funk, Dr. dos Santos. I am happy, motivated, and ready to take on the next seventeen cases.” Even the smile on her face felt fake. “Bring it on.”

“Uhuh.” Lucio wryly glanced at the mess of documents under her desk. “Angela, I’m sorry I gotta tell you this, but you have got to get a hobby. Doing something other than work might help you more with this midlife crisis thing.”

“I am not having a midlife crisis thing. I’m not that old, doctor. And–” Angela raised her eyebrows, denial written plainly across her face, “I do have a hobby,” she said with a shrug, “It just so happens that my hobby is related to my work.”

“Your hobby is dead bodies.” Lucio muttered.

“Solving problems. Discovering the unknown.”

“… About dead bodies.”

“Now, if you would kindly excuse me,” Angela threw her entire weight into tossing a giant, teetering stack of documents on the floor next to her feet with a huff. “I was, in fact, about to go and take my break.” she said, dusting her hands together, “Want to have lunch with me, doctor? It will be my treat.”

“It’s seven-thirty in the evening, Doc.”

“Oh, well, time flies I suppose.” Angela said, opening one of her desk drawers, then absentmindedly shoving Jim Jam wrappers and empty coffee cups inside. As if that would make her trash disappear in the morning.

After six months working in King’s Row Forensics Department, the terrifying sight of Dr. Ziegler’s desk hygiene was common enough for Dr. dos Santos to see. He learned early from older residents how futile it was to drag Dr. Ziegler away from a job, and Dr. dos Santos no longer stared at her and her atrocious, self-destructive habits in awe. Their student-mentor positions didn’t stop Lucio from chastising her about her work ethic, especially after witnessing drawn shadows prominent under her eyes everyday, and her smudged make up only completed Angela's usual look. Now one of Lucio’s many fears was finding Angela Ziegler in their morgue someday.

However.

Dr. dos Santos peered at her above the rim of his glasses, and noted the glow about her cheeks with a raised brow.

"Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen you this excited about solving a case since…”

“I am always excited about solving cases.”

“But where was that Doc Ziegler who was ‘tired of it all’ and who ‘wanted to do something new with her life’?” he asked, “Someone who wanted nothing to do with ‘death and dead stuff’? Don't give me that look, you know what I'm talkin' about."

"Lucio--"

"Where was that Angela Ziegler who was planning to quit and maybe try being a football coach or a field medic or something?”

“She is still here, and she happened to get a grip on reality after a lot of thinking.” Angela said, ducking her head, as if that would hide the dusting of red on her cheeks. “Besides, I am already finished with this case. The precinct needs it urgently tomorrow, and, you know…” she stumbled on her words.

“And?”

“I had to finish it quickly.” Angela finished lamely, her voice raising an octave higher as if that would make her sound innocent with her intentions. “Detective Amari was asking about it this morning, and I felt compelled to help her crack this case as soon as possible.”

Lucio felt both his eyebrows reach up his hairline. “Oh. I see. I see.” he said, a twinkle reaching his eye while he casually turned to check his nails, trying to appear more interested with its polish rather than the conversation itself, “Detective Dimples is an awesome source of motivation, isn’t she? Hoping to share a hobby with her, huh?”

“Oh, Lucio!” Angela almost jumped out of her chair, smacking his shoulder with a manila folder. “Don’t call her Detective Dimples.”

“Hey, you were the one swooning over her ‘smoky voice‘ and ‘beautiful smile’ a few days ago.” Lucio laughed, rubbing at the spot she slapped. “Admit it, doc, you’re too gay to handle another meeting with her.”

Angela exhaled, and schooled her features before she became too flustered; raking her fingers through her hair, and hoping the red flush now covering her neck down would fade before another nosy nancy came into the office.

_Relax. You are a doctor. You are a professional._

She straightened up in her chair, and folded her hands together in her lap. “I wanted to make sure I handed it in right away, that is all.” she said, managing an impressive professional lull in the tone of her voice. “I didn’t want to make our relationship with the precinct worse than it already is. And secondly,” Angela’s brows pinched in annoyance, and pointed at her office with a sharp jab of her forefinger: “‘Detective Dimples’ stays inside this room, doctor.”

“ _Detective Amari’s bone structure and cheekbones are so sharp and prominent–_ “

“Lucio.”

“ _It makes me want to take up anthropology._ Oh _Detective.”_

“Lucio!”

“Fine, fine, I promise I won’t bring it up again.” he said, trying not to double up in laughter, his poor attempt almost making him slip off her desk. “Professional reasons my ass, though, I know you’re her favorite in the lab. Always asking about you and your ‘thoughts’.” he waggled his eyebrows, “You should ask her out instead of doing this–” he motioned his hands at her vaguely, “Weird flirting ritual thing you’re doing. I doubt you can woo her by talking about dead bodies, Doc Ziegler.”

“I do no such thing, doctor.”

“You need to get out there and get a life. Any life. Get a hobby. Get some friends. Ask Detective A out on a sweet date. Live a little.”

“I do have friends. You’re my friend, yes? Sometimes I even read books.”

“Thrilling.”

“And the detective and I do connect, socially, but just as acquaintances and nothing more.” Angela said, pulling her fingers thoughtfully, “I am a grown woman, doctor, I have complete control of my life.”

“Last time you spoke to her, you struck up a conversation about bile.”

“Well, I thought it was fascinating.” Angela grabbed the rest of her documents and began to rearrange them in a tray next to her monitor, this time with less gusto, feeling herself hunch over as her mind began to conjure up depressing thoughts. “I don’t think I am her type, anyways.”

“Oh, nonsense.”

But it was true. Whether Angela liked it or not, why would anybody consider dating a frumpy, high-strung workaholic, who liked to open up dead bodies for a living?

Dr. Ziegler and Detective Amari were connected through their profession only, no matter what her feelings were. They barely did anything beyond striking awkward pleasantries and empty conversations with each other. Trying anything more proved too much for her to handle. She found it difficult navigating through compelling words above work jargon, while stuttering and pushing through her infuriating and _terrifying_ feelings. Not even the universe was kind enough to let them to meet on different circumstances, thus, they only ever saw each other to discuss murder cases among... other things.

Angela’s eyes, tired and unfocused, turned to look back at the autopsy report, wishing she could get sucked back into its world, where things had more clarity and sense and nothing was embarrassing.

Angela wondered when speaking with the dead became easier for her than dealing with the living.

She checked the time on her digital clock, blinking when she read it was now seven-forty six in the evening. The lights from the city cast a glow over the smoggy horizon, and as Angela listened carefully, she could hear police sirens echo off from a distance. She wondered if it was going to be another case they would eventually find through their doors.

Another body, another life ended.

She felt a hand on her shoulder ground her, all teasing gone from Lucio’s voice. “You won’t know unless you try, Doc.”


	2. her type

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore. 

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart --   _cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens_ \-- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. _Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela._

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“ _It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”_

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

* * *

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

 _Hi_.

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

_I am so sorry._

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.” 

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

... 

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask. 

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

* * *

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘ _Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’_

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” --   _stop talking about the weather, Angela_ \-- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” _Words, Angela._ “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

* * *

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they _are_ natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A _tiny_ oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.”

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- _maybe_ I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” _Lunch? Dinner? A movie?  
_

_An early morning jog around the park?_

_Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it._

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

_Live a little._

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus expanding this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational! 
> 
> Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best!
> 
> EDITED (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late last night, so I had to catch a few minor errors I overlooked :)


	3. nameless world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.
> 
> (Previously entitled 'Dead Bodies')

Detective Fareeha Amari dug for her coat’s collar underneath the scarf wrapped around her neck, taking care not to jostle her injured arm.

Looking out into the pouring rain, she stepped through the medical examiner’s office entrance, its sliding doors closing behind her with a hiss of cold air. Fareeha carefully fumbled down the marble steps which lead to the sloping sidewalk, her shoes getting drenched from the wet pavement once more. She contemplated what to do next.

The roads outside were sleek; watery reflections of white streetlights and holographic shop signs dancing and glistening on uneven asphalt and dark bricks. The pavement was lined with a layer of fog, not quite thick enough to hide the gleam of her shoes. It rolled across sidewalk cracks, curling between lampposts like smoke from a cigarette. Under the cover of rain, the streets felt like a liminal space; the urban sprawl quieting down to a whisper. It almost felt like she was walking in an old 1980s music video. Fareeha bunched her shoulders up, rain falling on her like big fat pellets, plunging her in a world of filtered gray and blue. She pulled her collar further up her face with a careful tug, hoping to warm her cheeks.

 _But this is real_ , she thought, slowing her brisk march when she reached a flickering streetlight.

She looked up at the dented torch, squinting from the rain falling on her face. Fareeha leaned her shoulder against the post, and tapped a knuckle against its metal surface twice. Light shortly surrounded her like a hundred watt spotlight. Fareeha wrapped her arm around herself, and waited.

The commercial district in Bishop Street usually bustled on a normal weekday, full of grim-faced crowds too busy and harried to slow down. Today, however, Fareeha only saw a handful of strangers huddled in their own coats; different colored umbrellas casting shadows over their heads, trying to keep themselves away from the worst of the weather. Along the roads were several lined coffee shops and quiet novelty stores. Closer to the horizon, a sky bridge hovered a few blocks away near a car dealership and a vehicle maintenance office, where she could see faraway headlights gliding across the bridge.

Fareeha inhaled, filling her lungs with the city. The smog, the food wafting from diners and eateries nearby, the hot biofuel from passing cars. With her eyes closed, she imagined the good Dr. Ziegler waiting under the bus stop after a work shift, sitting on a greasy wooden bench, protected from the elements by a layer of dirty glass and metal bars…

Fareeha hated the rain. Not for the first time, she questioned her year-old decision of moving to a place which had an overabundance of it.

Rain felt oppressive, heavy and menacing; hiding the gloom, with time frozen at the tip of a decimal point. Cairo’s streets never had the problem of crime persisting under unrelenting weather, but here in King’s Row, criminals would come out like earthworms crawling out of the mud, rising as if exposed to an electrical current; ready to take advantage of lone wanderers, darker alleyways, and abandoned vehicles. While her old security job in Cairo kept her busy, criminal statistics here in King’s Row was another level altogether. It found Fareeha sleeping in her car’s backseat most nights, too exhausted and emotionally drained to drag herself back to her flat. She spent most of her wages buying fuel, and eating street-food out among her miserable fellow city dredges.

But now, as an endless row of dark and heavy clouds rolled across the sky, Fareeha found there was another malevolent side to the city. People often said that fear came from the unknown. Fareeha argued that knowing, sometimes, is worse than not knowing.

As if possessed by a desire to do something with her hands, Fareeha turned her wrist and read the time on her wristwatch. Her hand was shaking, but it was not from the cold. Two thirty-five P.M.

A red double-decker bus swept past Fareeha, its sides covered in blinking neon advertisements of current web celebrities, dwarfing her easily as it turned left. She watched it go, warmed by its hot engine as it passed.

A number of cars followed after, heading for busier highways. Their windows were black, leaving behind the sounds of humming engines and the break of wind speed as they glided towards their destinations. Her eyes idly watched as they all disappeared around the next turning signal.

Fareeha perked up when a familiar shape of another vehicle soon came into view. She stepped closer to the edge of the street to meet it.

Her car’s headlights appeared like two bright eyes in the dark as it approached its owner, the Raptora’s bulky form cutting through the curtain of rain. Its engines roared, then slowed to a stop in front of her. She gave its hood a fond pat.

“You’re late.”

Fareeha opened the car door and quickly gathered herself in the driver’s seat, the ends of her coat bundling up over her lap. Her hands already felt numb from the cold, and water from her hair trickled down to her back. Fareeha shivered. It wasn’t the best weather for a visit to Dr. Ziegler, but she had come anyway. It was sensible, even necessary, to keep everyone informed, was it not? Of course, most of their communications were through screens and encoded channels. Meeting a few times a day in her office, fascinated by the way the doctor’s mind processed information. Dr. Ziegler was… different. Good different.

_What an odd woman._

She gripped the wheel and felt around its ridges for the fingerprint scanner hidden behind it. After finding the smooth glass panels, she allowed the module to scan her prints.

The vehicle’s inner-systems hummed to life, its dashboard lights, overhead LED’s, and the windshield display blinking like the eyes of a creature forced into wakefulness.

_Vehicle status…_

_GPS…_

_Radio box…_

She waited a moment, allowing Raptora to scan their external surroundings.

_**'Welcome back, Detective Amari.'** _

“Thank you, Raptora.”

**‘ _There is currently nothing urgent pending, and there are no alerts from nearby city districts.'_**

“Good to know.” Fareeha said with a grunt, struggling to pull the seatbelt over herself with one hand, jamming it in her haste.

**‘ _You are scheduled for an interrogation with Mrs. Eileen Finnegan at 1600 hours. No new reports for Case File: 712, 649, 447, 328…’_**

“Not so good to know.” She grumbled, clicking her seat belt into place after much difficulty.

With a sigh, Fareeha relaxed into her seat and reached under the passenger dashboard. She unlatched the car’s built-in laptop from underneath, pulling its sturdy metal tray towards herself. Fareeha rubbed her fingers together before opening its lid, and pressing the blinking, yellow button at the corner of its keyboard. She began to type a few keys.

**‘ _You have a non-urgent callback from your Tracker. Patching him through.’_**

She chuckled. “With Hanzo? It’s always urgent.”

“ _Amari_ _.”_

Fareeha grimaced.

_He must have heard that._

“I thought we were on first names basis now, Shimada?”

She bit the insides of her cheek, trying to stifle a laugh as Detective Shimada went silent, the grating radio static successfully expressing his displeasure.

Fareeha could almost see him glare at her from the other side of the frequency.

“Tell me.”

“ _We have the results from our tech’s video analysis for Case 765.”_  He said, his keyboard clicking. “ _Quoting her report: ‘If I have to check this dumb video clip again, I_ will _eat my equipment’. I believe her report strongly confirms she has found no further evidence of anything out of the ordinary.”_

Fareeha cursed, her fingers raking through her hair. “Any good news?”

“ _Got a call about the wife, that Finnegan woman.”_

“Eileen?”

“ _She cannot come for the interrogation today. I have just deleted it from your task list._ ”

“That’s not good news, Shimada.” She gripped the steering wheel tightly, drumming her fingers on the rim. “What happened?”

“ _Got the call thirty minutes ago. Neighbors and apartment staff reported she did not come home last night, and has been gone since yesterday.”_

“Think she ran off before we got to her?”

“ _I am checking all nearby airports and train stations as we speak.”_ Shimada said, “ _Might be a good time to pay her a visit.”_

“What is her address?”

Another minute of loud typing.

“ _I sent you the coordinates.”_

“Appreciate it, Shimada”

“ _Don’t get shot.”_

Shimada cut the audio on his side, leaving her alone with the sound of rain pelting the roof of her car, loud and cacophonous like the static of a dead television channel. Fareeha’s smile fell.

She pressed the back of her head against the leather headrest of her seat and exhaled, slow and steady, watching in a daze as her car’s wipers went back and forth across the windshield.

Stretching her numb fingers, she reached for the round metal knob of her radio and turned it on. A slow song began to play.

 

_Welcome, my son, welcome to the machine..._

 

* * *

The little girl woke up to the sight of a forest zipping by.

Her superhero posters and the toys on her desk were gone. Her desk was gone. Every morning she woke up to the sight of glow-in-the-dark stars hanging over her ceiling; her blinds half-open, allowing the morning light in. This looked nothing like her home.

Instead there were trees, yellow signposts, and guard rails blurring together into blotches of dizzying color.

She blinked, rubbing cold knuckles over her eyelids. For a moment, the girl had to take in a few seconds to remember where she was. Looking now at her surroundings, the girl’s mind caught up to her recent memories. They were not home anymore. They were so far away that girl did not know what this country was called anymore.

And there were so many _trees_.

The young girl did not wish to know what existed beyond the verdant landscapes; or beyond the faded blue mountains, which crested up into the sky like giant pointed specters. The view made her feel nauseous after staring at it for too long, and she had to look away, shaking her head. The girl supposed spending many days and nights riding a moving car for hours on end would make her stomach feel hollow and full of acid.

Up in the sky, the weather cast was blue and sunny from where she could see. It also looked windy, and pleasant, a good day. But the girl was starving, and she wished she could play outside with the children from back home instead. She imagined orange sunsets, drinking tea, and eating figs and nuts with her parents outside on the sandy balcony.

She hunched in her seat, watching thickets bearing spaces no wider than an inch or two apart whip past them as they drove far, far away. They have been driving for a long time, and she still did not know what day it was, or what time it was.

She hated traveling.

“We’re almost there, little one.”

The young girl frowned, looked down at her lap, and remained silent, fiddling with the hem of her jean jacket. The plastic yellow decoder ring around her thumb from yesterday’s cereal box was still sticky from the sugar and milk concoction she ate, but she found comfort in its weight. The girl took it off and worried it in her palm, turning the dials and trying to read a few random letters on the face.

“Still mad at me?” her mother asked, her voice rough from disuse. She sounded tired, and wary, but it was comforting for the girl to hear the familiar language again.

The girl said nothing. She pressed her head against the cool glass.

“I know you are, and I am sorry.” Her mother sighed. “I am so, so sorry. But we need to keep moving.”

“I want to go home.” the girl said, her voice soft, the hum of their vehicle drowning it out.

“We can’t, little one.”

“I want to know where _ami_ is.”

“We’ll see her again soon.” her mother paused. “I know you’re afraid and confused – “

“I am not scared.”

“But you need to do exactly as I say. Okay?” The girl decided ignore how her mother’s voice shook. “I need to protect you now.”

* * *

“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.”

Fareeha slammed the car door shut, and looked up at the lush residential building.

It was an old and ancient structure, surrounded by well-trimmed trees and square hedgerows along the sides, separating it from the road. Its stern and sturdy form was unlike the grandiose arching designs of today’s modern architecture. It had stayed in the same place years after its construction in the mid-millennium, and Fareeha presumed it will stay in another twenty. Around the ancient building were newer structures, taller with narrower roofs reaching high into the sky; colorful hologram logos blinking and turning above every shop entrance. Talco Machinery. Jotunn Co. Kenwood Electronics.

Detective Amari felt out of place amongst the crowd of flashy local residents, their drab business suits and dresses well-starched and angular. Some were waiting for their valets, while the equally well-dressed residential staff kept their clients’ coiffed hair and makeup dry, lifting wide umbrellas decorated with a bright yellow logo above their heads patiently.

The well-dressed omnic who had approached Fareeha, holding up a dainty hand as if asking permission to collect her wet coat, nodded politely. “Very well, detective.” They lowered their arm. “Welcome to the Evergreen Complex.” The omnic opened an umbrella over her head with a flourish, and patiently waited for Fareeha to get out of her car and lock her vehicle. “We did not expect you would arrive this early.”

“Thanks… Mister, Miss…?”

“Mister Samwise-57, your loyal Residential Concierge, detective.” He nodded. “At your service.”

“I am Detective Fareeha Amari, King’s Row Constabulary. I believe you have spoken to my partner an hour ago?”

Samwise’s blue oculars blinked. “It has been most distressing.” he said, deflating visibly. “Especially considering what had happened to her husband. We are happy you came, detective. Please follow me.”

After making sure the Raptora was safely patrolling around the city district on its own, Detective Amari followed Mr. Samwise-57 to the building’s wide and golden entrance. Its well-kept exterior built with flared bricks fanning out in complex patterns, which made its design look rustic in its odd geometry. Rainwater gushed in mini-waterfalls from the white and yellow awning above its main entrance.

The door panels and curved handles were also colored gold, its surface was clear glass.

Another omnic opened the glass door and welcomed them with a small bow and an exaggerated sweep of an arm, their square jaw quirking as they smiled, and kindly told her to be careful of the slippery floors. Fareeha nodded back and mumbled a quick thank you in return. The lobby floors were spotless, and the carpeting was dry.

Warm air greeted her, and she shivered from the sudden shift in temperature. Her shoes squeaked over the shiny marble floors, sliding and squelching as she walked awkwardly to the reception. Miraculously, she did not slip.

The apartment’s lobby was a wide space, sparsely decorated, with minimalist sofas and a lingering smell of oranges. Two security guards sat behind a wide desk a walk away, watching her approach apprehensively. Detective Amari tugged her coat over herself, her hunched form making her look like a drowned castaway among the richer folk.

“Nice place, Samwise.”

The omnic perked up proudly. “Our staff works very hard to keep things going like a well-maintained machine, you could say.” He said.

A few of the tenants watched her, some murmuring about the detective’s sudden unsightly appearance. Some were sending her dirty looks as Detective Amari dripped puddles everywhere. Other, likely smarter individuals, noticed the embroidered badge and patch on her shoulder which read: ‘ _King’s Row Constabulary, Criminal Investigation Department_. Nevertheless, they gave way to her tall presence, too busy reading the daily newspapers from their tablets, or hurrying to do their own businesses elsewhere.

“Do you happen to know Mrs. Finnegan in person, by any chance?” Fareeha asked, combing drooping strands of wet hair away from her face.

“She spoke to me a few times.” Samwise stuck his umbrella in a fancy copper bin nearby, which was already full of used wet umbrellas. “Lately to ask about her husband, but not much else.”

“Not a happy couple, I take it?”

“She wanted to make sure we caught her husband with a girl around his arm.” He said.

Once they approached the front desk, she signed her signature for the visitor’s record book, showing her badge to the security officers on-guard.

The elevator ride to the 54th floor took a while. Fareeha spent it in silence with the cheerful omnic by her side, who bounced along with the elevator jazz music.

In her mind, she was busy imagining Mrs. Finnegan’s daily routine. Retracing the woman’s journey every night, after coming back home from work.

The elevator was fairly spacious, and wide enough to fit ten people in. It was clean, the smell of perfume and cigarette smoke prominent, sticking on every surface. The wall behind them was covered in a large mirror, not a smudge marring its pristine surface.

Fareeha imagined Mrs. Finnegan fixing her make-up and hair in front of them every morning, every night.

The side walls were covered with a few LED display screens, which proudly advertised one ridiculously expensive product to another. Cheerful, multi-language voices from the ads rung out: perfumes, wristwatches, a fancy laundry service for the residents, and a ‘ _New Royal Mall on the Queen’s Walkway Boulevard! … Visit us today!_ ’.

Fareeha lifted her eyes up, and saw a security cam overhead. Its small, red light blinking above its dark lense. She set her mouth to a thin line.

“You wouldn’t mind if I acquired copies of your security vids, would you?”

“Of course not, detective. Please feel free.”

Detective Amari mumbled a thank you, and grabbed a device from inside her coat, which looked like it could have fit around her wrist perfectly if one of her arms were not broken. It was as large as her hand, and it fit perfectly in her palm nonetheless. The front panel of the device split and slid apart, revealing a small glass screen. A few settings and actions appeared in blue letters. With difficulty, Detective Amari pressed a few keys on its panel with her thumb, sighing in annoyance when she found her fingers too short to work the device properly, but she managed to finish uploading the files to their database nonetheless.

The elevator _dinged_ once it reached the 54th floor.

A long, and carpeted hallway greeted them. Fancy, seashell-shaped light fixtures hung in a precise row over the walls of the narrow hallway, each of them placed between an apartment door. The air was stale, and it smelt of leather, carpet shampoo, and – at one point, while passing room 5409 – the strong hint of brewing coffee.

Fareeha was also beginning to smell the stench of her sweat, fresh rain, and the streets hovering over her like a noxious aura.

They turned left.

“Mrs. Finnegan’s room is at the very end of this hallway, detective.” Samwise said.

“Didn’t expect this place to be huge.”

“Evergreen Complex is one of the oldest buildings in the district. Made of sturdy stuff, and recently renovated fifty years ago.” He said. “Quite close to the airport, with a train leading to the central hub a stop away. It is why most of our tenants never think about leaving.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to sell me a room.”

“Only if you can afford it, detective.”

“Ha.” Fareeha rubbed her nose with a finger, hiding her amusement at the omnic’s blithe response. “How long has Mrs. Finnegan been staying here with her husband?”

“Almost five years.”

“Do they have enemies? People they had an argument with that you know of?”

“Not to our knowledge, no.” Samwise paused. “They’re a quiet folk. Like to keep to themselves, not until their ‘domestic dispute’ reared its ugly head, at least.”

They reached the end of the hallway. The door facing them – room 5420 – seemed like any other door from the complex. Smooth lacquered wood, painted dark brown.

Fareeha reached for the doorbell and buzzed the room, hearing a musical bell jingle play inside. She waited, but heard no other sound. Fareeha’s eyebrows curled low in thought.

She turned to her guide. “May I?”

Samwise nodded, and took a few steps back, allowing her some space.

Detective Amari reached behind her ear – eyes taking in the sight of the door – and turned her virtual interface on, which filled her natural vision with a slight orange tinge and the glow of augmented reality. As the smart interface kicked in, it shortly began to scan her environment. A few details blinked in and out of Fareeha’s peripheral.

A collection of dirt and grime on the couple’s welcome mat.

Four different fingerprints on the doorknob, two from the husband and the wife.

The contents of the vase nearby had a layer of used cigarettes collecting at the bottom. Fareeha wrinkled her nose. It seemed like the local residents were not as disciplined as they liked to appear on the outside. She took note to check the discarded cigarette butts later.

Detective Amari waved away details she deemed unimportant with her hand, deciding to file them all in her memory banks in case they needed further inspection, and buzzed the doorbell again.

No sound, no movement. Not even a bio signature.

 _Damn._ “She’s not here.”

“Our staff would have known anyone coming in or out of the building.” Samwise said, his computerized voice carrying a baffled tone. “Just like every morning, without fail, Mrs. Finnegan left for her workplace yesterday carrying nothing but her purse. She mentioned nothing about coming home late, or staying someplace else. None of our staff have seen her since.”

Detective Amari gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, her nose flaring as she exhaled.

“Thank you, Samwise.” Fareeha pulled the front of her coat down over herself. “You’ve been a great help.”

“You are welcome, Detective Amari.” Samwise said, angling his body away from her by a polite inch. “I hope you wouldn’t mind, but I must go back to my duties. Please do feel free to leave any time you wish. I believe you know your way to the lift?”

Detective Amari nodded, still staring at the door long after the omnic turned around and left, the sound of his loafer shoes muffled by the carpet.

Her brain was screaming.

Fareeha stretched her hand out and pressed the pads of her fingers a few inches below the eyehole.

“No.” Fareeha narrowed her eyes. “It can’t be.”

She froze. Fareeha took a peek behind her in case someone else was watching. She traced something on the wood.

Fifteen minutes later, Detective Fareeha Amari left Evergreen Complex in a hurry, her face gaunt and set in stone. The back of her coat flying behind her as if she was being chased by a ghost she did not wish to see.

* * *

Her mother held out her hand. Her eyes tired, dark, and yet still full of love.

The young girl bit her lower lip, but relented. She turned in place from where she sat on the hood of the car, and dropped the plastic decoder ring in her mother’s open palm.

“You like this cartoon?” Her mother asked, her slim finger tracing the grinning cartoon dinosaur decorated along the ring.

“I have never seen it before.”

After driving long into the evening, crossing strange red and purple landscapes which beheld giant loping shapes, they finally stopped under the protection of the glowing moon and the shade of black sky. Her mother had parked the car behind a large sign which, the girl presumed, showed directions to places she had yet to see. For now, her mother thought they were safe enough, and so they sat, and waited, and listened.

Her mother held out her palm again, as if boasting her novice showmanship, showing the girl where the ring was placed in the middle of her hand. She closed her hand into a tight fist, and with a twinkling eye, her mother twisted her wrist and waved her other hand over it. A genuine smile teased the woman’s lips, which finally replaced the lines of worry etched prominently on her face for weeks now. The girl perked up and reached for her curled fingers, prying them open. The ring was gone.

“Where did it go?” The girl asked.

Her mother chuckled.

She reached behind the side of her head, and as if plucking it from her ear, revealed the toy ring and its grinning dinosaur. Its shade now a powder blue. Her favorite color.

The girl bounced where she sat. “How did you do that?”

“Magicians never reveal their secrets.” Her mother smiled, booping her nose. “But I can make an exception for you, little wonder.”

“You will teach me someday?”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her daughter, rubbing her back. “I will, when you are ready.” She said, pressing a kiss in her messy hair.

“Mama…”

“Look at you, you have dirt all over your face. We need to find you a cozy room with a big tub, huh?”

“Mama, I’m sorry.” the girl said, ducking her head. Her mother fell silent, but the girl felt her chest hitch, making her wince. “I’m sorry that I got angry at you. I don’t hate you.”

“It’s all right, my dear.”

“I’ll be good next time.” The girl wrapped her heavy arms around her mother in a tight hug, sniffling. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Her mother caressed her cheek. She smoothed out the knots from her daughter’s black hair, feeling the front of her shirt grow warm from freshly spilled tears.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed to feel afraid, _habibti_. Your _ami_ and I are sorry you had to go through all of this.” She enfolded the girl in her arms. Draping them desperately around her, as if trying to shield her away from the world. “Especially me. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not, mama, it’s those men…”

“Hush, don’t think of them again.” Her mother’s voice wavered, choking through her words. “ _Ami_ will come back, and the three of us will be here together, like before. Won’t that be something?”

The girl nodded, her tears burning her eyes and cooling her cheeks.

“I will always be with you. And I will never abandon you, Fareeha.” Her mother said. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe…

“No matter what.”

* * *

Detective Shimada jumped when a paper bag almost toppled the steaming cup of tea on his keyboard.

He glared at the offending object, its lower half translucent from an unholy amount of grease seeped into the paper, while something savory and spicy wafted from the crinkled opening. He looked up at the newcomer, and raised an eyebrow. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” A sniffle. “You look great, by the way. Got you samosas.”

“You should follow Morrison’s advice and take a few days off.” Shimada said, curling his lip at the mess of rainwater she dripped all over his desk. He wiped them away with the bottom half of the greasy paper bag. Shimada took off his earpiece, and pushed his keyboard to the side, making small room for lunch amongst his stack of organized files. “Want some?”

“Go ahead. Already ate my share.”

He ripped the paper bag open wide, and grabbed a cold, poorly wrapped pastry. It smelled like spiced potatoes and peas.

“You forgot the chutney again, didn’t you?”

Amari grunted in reply.

She headed for her own desk, opposite his larger work station fit for a Tracker, dripping rain water and spreading puddles everywhere she went. Her leather chair squelched as she sat.

“How was the – “

Amari released a watery cough, holding her fist firmly in front of her mouth.

Shimada shook his head. “Take some time off.” He slid his tissue box over to her desk. “Make it a week. I don’t want to catch whatever you have.”

“I can feel your love and concern emanating from here, Shimada.”

Her partner muttered angrily at her in his language, before continuing to type up their report with one hand, while guiding food to his mouth with his other.

“Did you get the vids I sent you?” Fareeha asked, taking a tissue paper from the box to blow her stuffy nose with.

“Nothing there.” Shimada said. He looked up from his work, peering at her above one of his many monitors. “Unless you wish to add ‘indecent public displays of affection’ or ‘public nudity’ as one of our cases?”

Amari didn’t reply. She sat in silence for a while, her nose and eyes flushed red as she stared at her own station front of her. Her desk was sparsely decorated compared to her partner’s collection of figurines and pictures from his home life, but Fareeha supposed she preferred it that way. She had a coffee cup full of used pens at the corner, and a tray where all her memory bank chips were organized into a collection of stacks.

“I didn’t find anything, either.” She said. “No new witnesses, nothing. Her co-workers said she left early. No one else saw her.”

“Our job just keeps getting easier, no?”

“How about you, how’s your search going?”

“Still waiting for confirmation from a few airports in the country.” Shimada said, pausing to chew his food. “Otherwise, I have found no trace of her, so far.”

“Hope it’s not another dead end.”

“Morrison might throw a fit.”

Fareeha snorted.

He swallowed another bite. “What are you doing here, Amari?” He asked. “I thought you weren’t coming in until later?”

“I have to make a call.”

Shimada narrowed his eyes and made a face. He leaned sideways in his seat, tensing when he got a better look at his partner, and realized how her eyes were bloodshot and dull. He whispered. “An encrypted phone call?”

She sent him a look over one of his monitors. Shimada didn’t reply, and wisely decided to look focus back on his work while finishing his food.

Fareeha stared at the phone next to her workstation. She nibbled her lower lip and – after a moment’s hesitation – grabbed the phone and dialed a long number. Nobody answered, but she was not surprised. The call switched to voice mail.

“Hey, Jesse.” Fareeha cleared her throat when it cracked from a rising cough, and definitely not because she felt nervous. She licked her lips, turning her chair away from Shimada’s curious look. “Been a while. Listen, call me back. It’s urgent.” Fareeha swallowed and felt her chest seize up, but she managed to keep herself calm and continued to speak. “I think there’s going to be a ‘family reunion’, or something like it. Not sure if your ‘dad’ is coming. He just sent me a message, earlier. I hope he will come this time.” She doesn’t. “Anyway, call me back. Please. And not a week too late this time, or I’ll kick your ass.”

Fareeha hung up. She leaned back in her chair and grabbed the orange stress ball from inside  her coat.

“Hm.” Shimada grunted, his eyes going back to his workstation. “Family shit?”

Fareeha exhaled, and allowed herself to relax once she realized Shimada wouldn’t push her to speak. She knew they both had their fair share of secrets. Things Morrison and the others didn’t need to know, especially. She appreciated that.

“Yeah.” Fareeha said, falling into her chair, pushing it as far back as she could. She closed her eyes. “Family shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so here’s the thing, we did not expect to give this story some cyberpunk-ish elements. This was supposed to be a one shot set in modern era with some pretty basic mystery stuff, but I guess here we are? After planning the story further along, plotting out the bits and bobs and doodads, we decided welp. Hey, why not add more and make our job a tad bit harder?
> 
> Angela will return again in the next chapter, so prepare for more dead bodies in chap 4!
> 
> And yes, Fareeha's Raptora is a cop car... I'm totally not thinking Knight Rider ha ha what're you talking about..... 
> 
> Lastly, I would like to thank my writing partner in crime, best brother Tobe for his awesome help as always. (you're the best I love you dude)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! :D Have a nice day, everyone~


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